drift upward in thought, while her finger raps against her cheek. “Hmph. Well, let’s see. You already know about the elevator thing. I do have this fear of planes, too.”
“What happened to cause that?” I ask, and she finally removes her hand from underneath mine, clasping her fingers in front of her, and I already miss her touch.
“Nothing. I’m aware it’s completely irrational. I just don’t like being that far away from the ground. There’s too much of a chance to drop out of the sky, fall to the concrete, into the ocean. You name it, I’ve got a scenario worked out.”
“But you made it to California. So you overcame,” I say with a smile, contemplating whether she would push me away if I grabbed her hand again.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that, I…I flew once before, too,” she replies, and it looks like she wants to add something but changes her mind. Her eyes make their way around the elevator then come back to land on mine. “Hmph. So what shall we do now?” she asks, making my lips curve into a wicked grin.
“I don’t know. Let’s see. Umm, we’re alone in an elevator with nothing but time on our hands and you smell really fucking good.”
She edges forward, close enough that I can see the dots of gold in her eyes before she whispers seductively, “You think so?” Then she giggles and knocks me on the shoulder so I fall flat on my back—not a bad position to be in if she’d just acquiesce. “Unfortunately for you, the ambience in here doesn’t work for me.”
I’m sure I could change her mind.
Fran’s cell phone buzzes and she scrambles to find it in her purse at the same time mine beeps indicating a text message. I sit back up and grab my phone, seeing it’s a message from Caleb.
Where the fuck are you? You’re late.
I type out a quick reply.
Stuck on an elevator…with Fran.
He responds immediately.
Okay, I’m not worried then. Enjoy , which in turn makes me smile.
Fran finishes typing out a note on her phone.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Peyton,” she says, as she continues her reply, “she’s reminding me that the conference started today.” She laughs and sticks her phone back in her purse. “I told her I remembered, but I’m a bit indisposed.”
Fran and I spend the next hour or so discussing everything from what constitutes good design and how I ended up in architecture, to various other aspects of my life. It suddenly dawns on me that we’ve spent a good portion of that time talking about me.
“So…now that you know I alphabetize all of my food and my shirts and pants are all arranged in my closet according to color, tell me something else I don’t know about you.”
“Hmph.” She taps her finger against her mouth and my eyes can’t help but follow her there. I fight it, but I’m drawn to her lips. But it’s not just her lips, I’m starting to realize, it’s her, which means I’m royally fucked. There’s something about being with her that makes me want to throw caution to the wind, to mess up my orderly little world that suddenly seems so incredibly boring.
“I have a bit of a Twizzlers addiction,” she states, latching onto her purse and rummaging through it. “Crap, I thought I had some left.”
“I think you mean Red Vines,” I correct with a cocky smile, leaning back on my hands and crossing my legs.
“No. Red Vines suck . I meant Twizzlers.”
I ruffle my hair with my fingers, pushing it away from my eyes. “Well, I know all about Twizzlers from growing up on the East Coast, but you’re on the West Coast now baby, and we’re Red Vines all the way.”
She plays with the strap of her heel, sliding it off to rub the bottom of her foot. “Well, lucky for me then, I’ll be back on the East Coast in eleven days.”
Of course she’s going back to New York, she has a life there, but something about the thought of her leaving turns my stomach.
“Wait, what do you mean eleven days?” I
“What happened to cause that?” I ask, and she finally removes her hand from underneath mine, clasping her fingers in front of her, and I already miss her touch.
“Nothing. I’m aware it’s completely irrational. I just don’t like being that far away from the ground. There’s too much of a chance to drop out of the sky, fall to the concrete, into the ocean. You name it, I’ve got a scenario worked out.”
“But you made it to California. So you overcame,” I say with a smile, contemplating whether she would push me away if I grabbed her hand again.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that, I…I flew once before, too,” she replies, and it looks like she wants to add something but changes her mind. Her eyes make their way around the elevator then come back to land on mine. “Hmph. So what shall we do now?” she asks, making my lips curve into a wicked grin.
“I don’t know. Let’s see. Umm, we’re alone in an elevator with nothing but time on our hands and you smell really fucking good.”
She edges forward, close enough that I can see the dots of gold in her eyes before she whispers seductively, “You think so?” Then she giggles and knocks me on the shoulder so I fall flat on my back—not a bad position to be in if she’d just acquiesce. “Unfortunately for you, the ambience in here doesn’t work for me.”
I’m sure I could change her mind.
Fran’s cell phone buzzes and she scrambles to find it in her purse at the same time mine beeps indicating a text message. I sit back up and grab my phone, seeing it’s a message from Caleb.
Where the fuck are you? You’re late.
I type out a quick reply.
Stuck on an elevator…with Fran.
He responds immediately.
Okay, I’m not worried then. Enjoy , which in turn makes me smile.
Fran finishes typing out a note on her phone.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Peyton,” she says, as she continues her reply, “she’s reminding me that the conference started today.” She laughs and sticks her phone back in her purse. “I told her I remembered, but I’m a bit indisposed.”
Fran and I spend the next hour or so discussing everything from what constitutes good design and how I ended up in architecture, to various other aspects of my life. It suddenly dawns on me that we’ve spent a good portion of that time talking about me.
“So…now that you know I alphabetize all of my food and my shirts and pants are all arranged in my closet according to color, tell me something else I don’t know about you.”
“Hmph.” She taps her finger against her mouth and my eyes can’t help but follow her there. I fight it, but I’m drawn to her lips. But it’s not just her lips, I’m starting to realize, it’s her, which means I’m royally fucked. There’s something about being with her that makes me want to throw caution to the wind, to mess up my orderly little world that suddenly seems so incredibly boring.
“I have a bit of a Twizzlers addiction,” she states, latching onto her purse and rummaging through it. “Crap, I thought I had some left.”
“I think you mean Red Vines,” I correct with a cocky smile, leaning back on my hands and crossing my legs.
“No. Red Vines suck . I meant Twizzlers.”
I ruffle my hair with my fingers, pushing it away from my eyes. “Well, I know all about Twizzlers from growing up on the East Coast, but you’re on the West Coast now baby, and we’re Red Vines all the way.”
She plays with the strap of her heel, sliding it off to rub the bottom of her foot. “Well, lucky for me then, I’ll be back on the East Coast in eleven days.”
Of course she’s going back to New York, she has a life there, but something about the thought of her leaving turns my stomach.
“Wait, what do you mean eleven days?” I
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